Free preview
The coast is clear!
A child's voice echoes through the bathroom.
I crawl into in the empty bathtub and shut the bath lid. Now I am invincible. He will never find me. Imagining my brother frantically searching for me makes me feel slightly giddy.
Hehehehe . . . !
My stifled giggle echoes against the tile. I press my ear to the bottom of the tub, which feels cool and pleasant. I hear the distant buzzing of cicadas and the sound of my brother rummaging through the storage under the stairs.
Huh?
His footsteps fade as he walks away.
What a dummy! Hehehehe . . . !
But gradually, I start to feel anxious.
What if he never finds me—what then?
The darkness inside the bathtub turns into a tiny black sea. I am swiftly swallowed up, and soon feel like I am drowning . . . It's terrifying.
Instinctively, I move to lift the bath lid—but hearing hurried footsteps, I hastily pull my hands back.
Hang in there . . . !
As I try my best to bear it, I gradually start to drift off.
It feels like I am soaking in lukewarm water.
The sound of cicadas gently melts away.
Medaka? Where are you?
I hear my brother calling for me from somewhere far away. I'm right here, I whisper secretly in my dream. It's as if he hears me; the footsteps come closer. My heart races. The bathroom door opens.
The bath lid is lifted, and bright light pours in—
You found me . . .
What are you saying? You must still be half-asleep.
I grimace and rub my sleepy eyes. My 23-year-old brother stands there, still sporting that mischievous, prankster's grin that he's worn since we were children. His hair is messy, a silly cowlick sticking up as usual.
You sleep like a prize from a UFO claw game.
A UFO claw game . . . ?
I yawn. I had been sleeping in the bathtub, lined with a mat and a futon. Lots of little sheep plushies surround me like packing peanuts. And here I am, hugging the biggest of them.
Come on, breakfast is ready.
My brother knocks on the bathtub and leaves. I press my face into the back of Lammy, my sheep plushie.
Ugh . . .
I roll around for about five minutes before finally getting up.
I see my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Long black hair, light blue pajamas. The dark circles under my eyes make me look just like Lammy. I am quite short, and even to myself, I look very childlike.
When I make my way to the dining room, my brother is already seated at the table. Our family usually eats there, until we set up the winter kotatsu in the living room. Then we eat snuggled underneath it.
I sit opposite my brother. The TV is playing the weather forecast for August 10th here in Koriyama. Around our home in Fukushima Prefecture, they predict the temperature will continue to rise. It will be hotter today than it was yesterday.
Medaka, toast the bread.
My brother, Isaki, wears a dress shirt with his tie undone and hanging loosely.
Toast it yourself . . .
Aren't you the Toast Chief?
In the Isohara family, each child has a designated family job. Incidentally, my brother's job is Bath Cleaning Chief. However, he is currently off duty, since I live in the bathtub.
Reluctantly, I stand up and head to the kitchen.
Good morning, Medaka. How many fried eggs would you like?
My mother, Kujira, is already cooking. She is barrel-chested and sturdy, with a deep, husky voice.
Just one. No bacon, please.
That's always enough to fill me up. My mother looks somewhat exasperated, though.
You'll never grow big and strong eating so little.
I'm done growing, anyways.
Pouting slightly, I return to the table and set the bread in the pop-up toaster. I nearly doze off in the minute it takes for the bread to pop up with a ding. Placing the toasted bread on a plate, I reverently present it to my brother with both hands.
Your toast, my liege.
Thank you, thank you.
Just then, our father strolls in, dressed in his postman's uniform. He's tall and slender like a nurarihyon, a type of yokai resembling an elderly man. They're known for sneaking into people's homes for food and drink. He swipes the freshly warmed toast.
Ah, Dad, that's my bread!
Hm—
Before I know it, my father has already slathered the bread with jam. He laughs me off with a chuckle.
Ho, ho, ho.
You damn yokai . . . I mutter under my breath.
Aren't you forgetting about your diabetes?
He is the type of yokai who takes metformin after every meal due to high blood sugar. Nevertheless, Dad starts munching on his bread after neatly primping his prized mustache, as if he had not heard a thing.
I puff up my cheeks, slightly annoyed. After setting a new slice of bread in the toaster, I help Mom carry the plates over to the table. Bacon and eggs, salad, toast, and miso soup. Mom always includes miso soup, no matter the rest of the menu. The table now set, I sit down and begin to eat as mom starts chatting away.
Looks like it's going to be another beautiful day.
It's a good day to dry laundry. Speaking of which, I heard those washing machines with built-in dryers are really good. Mrs. Tanaka has one—
Yeah.
Mmm.
Dad's replies are so lackluster, it is hard to tell if he is actually listening.
It's fine when it's sunny, but it's quite inconvenient, since we can't use the bathroom dryer.
Mom glances over at me.
Medaka, isn't it about time you got out of the bathtub?
It was an unexpected shot. My miso soup goes down the wrong pipe, and I cough and splutter.
It's been three months now. Three whole months.
Uh . . . I'm not quite ready yet . . .
Why don't you try getting out? You might be surprised; you might be okay now. Isn't that right, honey?
A sputtering sneaks from dad's chair, followed by an unpleasant smell.
Oh come on, don't reply with a fart!
Mom scrunches up her face and waves her hands frantically.
Whoa! Don't send it this way!
Dad laughs. He sounds a little embarrassed, but clearly enjoying himself.
Ho, ho, ho.
Thanks for the meal.
Seizing the chaos, I make my escape to the kitchen, lightly rinse my dishes, and drop them into the washbasin.
Ah, Medaka, wait a moment!
I dash upstairs to my room, which is still cluttered with half-unpacked cardboard boxes. I moved to Sendai for a job in April, but I came right back in mid-May and promptly relocated my existence to the bathtub. I have not finished unpacking.
I open a few boxes before finally finding what I was looking for.
My elementary school graduation album from Sakuragaoka.
Feeling nostalgic, I open it to take a peek inside. I have not changed much since then, especially the expression on my face like I'm eating a sour candy. There is a photo of Aoi Hasegawa next to mine.
Medaka!
At the sudden call of my name, I put down the album. There, on the neighboring balcony stands Aoi, with the same puppy-like innocent smile he wore in the album. His naturally curly, bright chestnut hair reminds me of a toy poodle, as does the tail-wagging like way he waves his arm.
Good morning! Haha, you've got bed head!
Oh, really . . . ?
I pat the back of my head.
Are you free today? It's a beautiful Saturday. Let's go out somewhere!
Ah . . . sorry, I have plans today.
Oh . . . that's too bad . . .
Aoi seems a bit deflated. I can almost see his tail drooping limply.
Sorry, maybe next time.
Aoi is my next-door neighbor, and he's been like family to me for as long as I can remember. If only I could get out of the bathtub, I would be happy to hang out with him anytime.
I offer prayer-hands in apology and head back downstairs.
Entering the bathroom, I open the mini-fridge packed with strawberry milk. I sip it through a straw as I sit in the bathtub.
I pick up a modified Super Famicon controller and press the down arrow. A whirring sound follows, and a makeshift soundproof booth descends from the ceiling, fitting snugly over the bathtub.
Pressing the L button turns on the light, revealing a built-in streaming setup: PC monitor, keyboard, mouse, headphones, microphone, camera . . .
Hitting the R button activates the air conditioning. Next, I hit the start button, booting up the PC. The Windows logo appears on screen.
I log into YouTube and start preparing for the stream.
When I launch the dedicated software, my avatar, a charming anime model, appears on the bottom right of the screen. The illustration moves in sync with my expressions, captured by the camera at the top of the monitor. When I blink, the avatar blinks, and when I yawn, the avatar yawns, too.
The avatar's name is Kuromori Ibara. Themed around Sleeping Beauty, she is dressed in a blue gown adorned with black thorns. Her hair is white, decorated with an ice-blue rose hair ornament.
Nearly a hundred viewers are waiting for me already. That's about three whole school classes' worth, but I have long become numb to the numbers. I wait for the scheduled time, then start the stream.
Konmori!
As soon as I greet them with our community's version of hello, comments start flying in.
Konmori!
Been waiting.
So excited!
Sleepy . . .
The usual flood of sheep emojis fly by.
Kuromori Ibara smiles on the screen, floating against a backdrop illustration of a cute, gothic castle room.
I casually start to chat. The school album I brought along serves as inspiration for a few funny anecdotes from my childhood.
I'm doing an ASMR stream tonight, too. If you can't sleep, come join me.
I respond to the comments, then move on to the Q&A section.
What made you start being a VTuber?
VTuber, short for Virtual YouTuber, refers to YouTubers who use CG characters to stream advice, game playthroughs, and the like.
I'm momentarily at a loss for words. Why did I start? Did I just end up here? When I trace it back to the beginning, I realize it all started when I began living in my bathtub, and the reason for that was . . .
Maybe because I failed to get a job, haha.
I joke, then feel something nagging at me. As I continue chatting, the thought stews in the back of my mind. What exactly did I fail at . . . ?
My gaze falls on the album. I am the smallest person in the group photo.
That's right. Maybe . . .
Maybe my birth was a mistake in the first place.
1
When I bathed with my mother as a child, she would often point to the scar on her stomach.
You were born from here.
She sounds like a veteran soldier bragging about an old battle wound. Indeed, the thin red line running vertically down her stomach has its own intimidating presence.
Woah . . .
That was the only sound I could muster to express my amazement. When I placed my hand on her amply swollen belly, it rumbled.
Is someone else going to be born from here?
No, I'm just fat now.
Gahahaha!
My mother would laugh heartily.
It's the same way the Roman emperors were born!
Apparently, I was born by Caesarean section.
My mother gave birth to me in Iwaki, Fukushima Prefecture.
She went into labor a month earlier than expected, but I was coming into the world in reverse, so it ended up an emergency operation.
Meanwhile, my father was off fishing deep in the mountains, completely unreachable. My mother often grumbled about it.
He's never around when you need him . . .
He was also gone fishing when my brother was born, apparently. But even without him, my mother was as cool as a frozen tuna when they wheeled her into the operating room for me.
They injected her with subarachnoid spinal anesthesia, going straight through her back and into her lumbar spine. It's a partial anesthesia, so she was conscious during the surgery. The doctor poked around in between what a fisherman call the belly core and the belly base (my mother comes from a family of fishermen, so she often uses such strange metaphors), and out I came—1980 grams, not even two kilos, a tiny little thing. It is like what they call psychological pricing, when the seafood at the market is priced at $19.80 instead of $20.00, to trick your brain into thinking it's a better deal. Not that it should be a joking matter; newborns usually weigh about three kilos. I am only two-thirds of that, a so-called "low birth weight baby", and moreover, I did not cry. Not crying means not breathing.
As the doctors and nurses panicked, suddenly my mother sat up and shouted.
Hand her over!
She grabbed me upside down by the ankles and rhythmically spanked my bottom. Thwack, thwck, thwack! At that, I finally started to cry and breathe.
That was what she said, anyway. She was really out of it. Spanking like that can cause complications, and is not done nowadays, so I was probably just routinely resuscitated through artificial breathing.
Low birth weight babies come with risks.
The doctor handed over a cute pink informational pamphlet. It was the day my mother was discharged, five days after my birth. She still has that pamphlet, nestled carefully between her old Mother and Child Health Handbook and my umbilical cord.
There may be abnormalities in her lungs, heart, or nerves, and delays in intellectual development. However, support systems are available. Please fill out this low birth weight child form if you'd like to apply for the medical cost assistance program available here in Iwaki City.
His tone was gentle as he conveyed this, possibly so as not to shock my parents, including the father, who had finally appeared to see his wife home. The medical assistance is available to children with a birth weight below 2000 grams. I qualified, obviously.
Leaving the hospital, they headed to my mother's family home in Ena alone. I would stay in the incubator for another month. On the way, my parents parked their car off the side of a road by the sea and took a walk together.
That was tough, ho ho ho . . .
My father was muttering to himself as he walked ahead of my mother. His slouched, lanky form irritated her immensely for some reason. It was me who had it tough, not you. I oughtta slug you!
Suddenly, my father turned around.
Do you remember this place?
It was just an ordinary stretch of road, but my mother gasped in surprise.
Yes, I remember . . .
This is where they first met.
Seven years before I was born.
My mother, still just a young woman, was walking when she heard hollering in the distance.
Woohoo!
Looking toward it, she saw a man fishing in the sea, having the time of his life. It was my father, in his healthier days before the diabetes set in. Even then, he'd been heavily influenced by the manga Tsurikichi Sanpei, so he let out embarrassing exclamations like Woohoo! and Feh! while fishing, just like the characters.
But as they say, even a cracked pot has a matching lid. My equally eccentric mother struck up a conversation, for some reason.
Catching anything?
A fairly decent amount, I suppose.
That level of excitement from just a fairly decent catch? My mother continued her small talk, amused.
I have an extra rod, if you’d like to join me.
My mother grinned at his invitation.
I don't really fish. I get my fish from the curve, not the sea.
Fish from the curve . . . ? In answer to my father's puzzled expression, my mother led him to that same road.
Where are the fish?
As my father's eyes darted eagerly around, my mother smiles knowingly.
Well, just wait a moment.
Soon enough, a truck passes by.
My father was astounded.
Ah!
As the truck took a sharp curve, loads of greeneye fish spilled from its open top. Side-eyeing my stunned father, my mother burst into a hearty laugh.
Come on, pick them up, pick them up!
The two of them gleefully scooped up the glistening, fresh fish under the summer sun.
One way or another, my father ended up at my mother's family home for dinner that evening. He joked as he crunched on his tempura.
Pacific saury is best from Akita, walleye pollack roe is best from Hakata, and greeneyes are best from the Ena curve, ho ho ho!
His witty remarks kept everyone laughing, much like the Nurarihyon he so closely resembles. For the record, the highest annual catch of Pacific saury is actually from Hokkaido, so he just said Akita because it sounds funnier.
And so went the backstory of that unremarkable road.
I wonder if we can still hunt for fish on the road.
The trucks have changed. We can't catch them like that anymore.
As they reminisced, they came across a water basin a little further down the road. A water lily floats on its surface, the tiny shadows of small medaka fish dart about in the shade beneath it. It is a typical medaka bowl, as self-sufficient fish bowls are called.
They're cute. What do you suppose they eat?
They just eat the algae and stuff, so you can pretty much leave them be.
My father paused for a moment before suddenly making a suggestion.
Let’s name her Medaka.
Huh?
The baby. So she grows up strong and resilient, even if she's small.
And so I was named Isohara Medaka.
You might have noticed already, but my mother is Kujira (whale), my father is Kanpachi (amberjack), and my brother is Isaki (grunt) . . . I am the only freshwater fish of the bunch. It seems they originally had some stupid plan to have all matching names in our family, but they completely forgot about their naming scheme when it came to me. Typical.
2
Three years after I was born, our family of four moved to Koriyama in Fukushima Prefecture, to a town called Sakuragaoka. We had a newly built house with a thirty-year mortgage. I was a fairly healthy child, but I vaguely remember developing allergies and falling ill from Sick Building Syndrome at the start.
C'mon, let’s explore!
My four-year-old brother swung a rod of a rolled-up newspaper. It was the day after we moved in.
Sailor Medaka, board the ship!
Boarding the bathtub, we begin our imaginary adventure.
Splash, splash!
Whoosh, whoosh!
There's a whale!
We cheered as the waves from the phantom whale rocked our bathtub boat. Eventually, we touched down in the jungle in our new house. I toddled along after my brother.
I got our food supply!
My brother found a banana in the kitchen and began to munch on it. He tilted it my way.
No thanks.
Touring around this exciting new land, we visit places like the pantry, dining room, living room, and the tatami-floored Japanese-style room.
This place looks dangerous . . . There might be venomous snakes . . .
Bravely, he ventured alone into a dark storage space under the stairs.
Isaki!
Gyaaah!
I hear a scream, and a snake flies out from the darkness.
Aaagh!
I scream in terror, though of course, the snake was just a rubber toy. My brother wore a mischievous grin as he emerged. It was an early warning sign of the troublemaker he was destined to become.
As we acted out little scenes like that one, we finished exploring the first floor and headed up to the second.
Isaki, wait for me!
I was still too small to climb the stairs well, forced to desperately hoist myself up one step at a time.
The second floor housed both our parents' bedroom and our rooms. After a thorough inspection of Isaki's room, we went to mine. I looked out the sliding balcony door.
Wow!
There's someone there!
My brother rushed over, crashing over a dollhouse table as he does.
On the neighboring balcony, two kids were peeking through the gaps in the railing, just like us.
They're the natives of this land . . .
It was our first encounter with the Hasegawa siblings, the older sister Miyo and younger brother Aoi.
When our parents returned from shopping soon after, they were surprised.
Four children were now laughing and playing together. This would be the start of a years-long friendship between the Isohara and Hasegawa families, one so close that we were like one big family.
Miyo is the same age as my brother, and Aoi and I are also the same age.
Eventually, we all started attending Sakuragaoka Kindergarten together. I would always sit next to Miyo on the kindergarten bus. I adored her, my kind and cute older sister. Whenever something bothered me, she was the one I ran to.
Miiiyooo!
I clung to her while crying. She tirelessly comforted me, patting my head.
Her little brother Aoi was an incredibly cute little boy. It's like the word cherubic was coined specifically for him, with his curly chestnut hair, round eyes, and rosy cheeks. He was popular with the girls even from those early kindergarten days, often dragged into playing house. That suited him just fine; he seemed to prefer it to playing with the other boys.
One evening, as we waited for my mother, delayed by overtime at her nursing job, something happened. Aoi was crouched in the sandbox, crying.
What's wrong?
He just shook his head sadly. Feeling sorry for him, I held his hand and lingered to keep him company.
Eventually, Aoi's tears stopped, and he blurted something out.
Medaka, when we grow up, let's get married!
Marriage! I think back fondly on that spontaneous proposal now, but back then, I barely understood what the word meant.
Okay!
Aoi's face lights up, and his cheeks turned even rosier than usual.
3
When I was four years old, I played Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star on handbells at the kindergarten recital, wearing a light blue dress and ringing the high-pitched bells. My parents gushed at the sight.
Indeed, Medaka is the smallest star of all!
That's right!
At seven, during a second-grade school concert, I played the role of the only black fish among a group of red ones in Swimmy. Again, they comment affectionately.
Indeed, Medaka is the smallest fish of all!
That's right!
At nine, during the fourth-grade sports festival, I performed in a human pyramid. Due to my light weight, I stood at the very top. My parents cheered me on.
Indeed, Medaka is the smallest one of all!
That's right!
And so, I grew up very small. When the teacher told us to line up in order of height, I stood confidently at the front of the line, my hands squarely on my hips, my nose high and haughty. My desk was always in the front of the room, and my teachers called on me often.
Aoi was about as short as I was. The cherubic boy stood next to me during the handbell performance and under my left foot during the human pyramid. When we lined up by height, he was at the head of the boys' line, his proud pose mirroring mine.
Medaka, eat up! I thought you liked this dish?
My mother often urged me to eat more, but I always shook my head.
Ever since I can remember, I have had hardly any appetite. The feeling of hunger is foreign to me, and thrice-daily meals are just a hassle.
In Osamu Dazai's No Longer Human, there's a passage that goes like this.
Of course, I eat a lot too, but I can barely recall times I ate out of hunger. I eat things that seem rare, things that seem luxurious, and also whatever is served when I travel, even if I have to force it down. And indeed, meal times were the times I suffered the most as a child.
I totally get it!
I remember thinking so when I first read that passage. I like eating things like cake and chocolate, but not out of hunger. Apparently, even as a baby, I seemed quite annoyed whenever they tried to get me to breastfeed.
The older I grow, the more I realize I am quite different from everyone else around me.
Most humans are born with a kind of engine inside of them. Once revved up, it drives them to new places with incredible force. The destination they aim for varies per person; it can be things like delicious food, romance, leisure, wealth, knowledge, singing, being praised, harming others, etc. And when their desire is fulfilled, they feel happy. Allegedly.
It seems I was born without that particular feature. If you hooked my heart up to an emotional EKG, it would be incredibly flat. Not flat as in dead, but flat as in minimal ups and downs. While everyone else's waves might look like honorable Mount Fuji or even Mount Takao, mine barely reaches the height of a sand dune.
The other day, my boyfriend and I went to a cake buffet!
So goes a typical kind of conversation I find myself listening to, perched alone on the peak of the Tottori Sand Dunes.
*sigh*
I let out a sigh. Of course, these sorts of conversations only take place from high school onward.
Where did I leave my engine? Maybe I was born before it could even be installed.
I am also terrible at sports. At the annual Sakuragaoka Elementary marathon, I was among the last three to finish every year. No matter how hard I try, I just cannot build up any stamina. People say exercise is supposed to be fun and refreshing, but it's never felt that way to me.
In fifth grade, there was a soccer tournament at Sakuragaoka Elementary. It is hard to believe that Aoi, who used to while away his lunch breaks playing house, had become the star of the soccer team. All us Isoharas come out to support him. In contrast with his short stature, Aoi darts around energetically, drawing cheers. Many girls from his class came out to cheer for him, too. The game ended in a splendid victory for our team, and Aoi came over with a medal around his neck, looking somewhat nervous.
W-What did you think? I played well, didn't I, Medaka?
Yeah, I was watching the whole time. You were amazing.
Aoi's face lit up instantly. If he had a tail, it would be wagging furiously.
Hey, Aoi, can I ask you something?
What is it? You can ask me anything, Medaka!
I voiced a question that I had been pondering for a long time.
Why do you play soccer?
. . . Huh?
Aoi was taken aback. I did elaborate, just tilted my head questioningly.
. . . Because it’s fun . . .
So, you don't have a particular goal in mind?
Eh . . . no . . . sorry . . .
Why are you apologizing?
Aoi looked like he had been suddenly teleported into outer space. It seemed like a simple question to me, but I guess it was some profound philosophical inquiry to him, akin to asking the meaning of life. In the commemorative photo taken after the game, Aoi is still wearing that haunted, insomniac philosopher look. I still feel bad about that, all these years later.
When we had to write about our future dreams for the graduation yearbook in elementary school, I didn't know what to say. Just living normally is hard enough for me. I have no energy left over for dreaming. Already tired of life at twelve, I think that dying around twenty seems about right.
My best friend, Sanae Tsuchiya, wrote hers confidently.
I will enter a prestigious university and become a person who makes a difference in the world.
Sanae is a genius who was even elected as student council president. She has her future all planned out.
Huh, why?
But what she really wants to be is an idol. She wants to dance and sing, and to sparkle on the stage for our guests.
Huh? There's no way I'll make it as an idol. Studying hard is the best way to go!
Sanae laughed. It didn't seem like she was lying.
What could that have menat?
After pondering for a while, I finally understood. What Sanae wrote was not her own dream; it was the wish of her parents. Somehow, other people's expectations of her had superseded her own desires, so subtly that she hadn't even noticed. I had been shocked to discover that such things are even possible.
The more I thought about it, the more confused I became, staring hopelessly at the blank future dreams section.
I don't want to become anything.
I don’t want anything.
I . . .
I am—
At that moment, the vague discomfort I felt towards humans crystallizes into one phrase.
Humans just have too much energy.
4
Medaka, you don't seem excited at all.
A "Congratulations, Graduate!" ribbon was pinned to Sanae's chest.
Well . . .
I'm too lonely to be excited.
Sakuragaoka Middle School was in the same district as Sakuragaoka Elementary, so I spent nine years with almost the same exact group of people. Many of us had been in the same class since way back in kindergarten. But high school will scatter us to the four winds.
Medaka, you're adorable!
Sanae hugged me from behind and rubbed her cheek against mine.
You're treating me like a child again . . .
Ahaha, even your grumpy face is cute!
She pokes my slightly puffed cheeks, like I am a hamster. All of my classmates treat me with this sort of small-animal-like affection.
After the graduation ceremony in the gymnasium, we took photos with family and friends. The Isohara and Hasegawa families also took a group photo, despite not being blood relatives. Miyo and my brother were in attendance, though they had long since graduated themselves.
Miiiyooo!
I call, seeking the same affection Miyo has always given me.
Medaka, can I talk to you for a sec . . . ?
Aoi asked timidly and then led me to a secluded location. His face turned bright red as he bowed deeply and extended his right hand.
Will you go out with me?
I scratched my cheek absentmindedly.
Eh . . . again?
Aoi looked a mix of bewildered and despondent.
Again? What do you mean . . . ?
You confessed during our elementary school graduation, remember?
That incident caused quite a stir. Rumors spread that Aoi had been rejected after confessing, which led to jealous girls hunting down his supposed crush. When they realized it was me, their interest faded completely.
Ah, that's just Medaka . . .
They said it in the same way you'd say, Ah, that's just a hamster . . .
But it’s been three years since then . . .
Getting confessed to every couple years like it’s some kind of license renewal doesn't exactly sweep me off my feet.
Aoi looked depressed.
Yeah, I guess you’re right . . .
He leaves, his small back looking lonely as he gets further and further away. I felt bad for him, but that didn't mean I wanted to date him. I've never really liked anyone that way.
Did you turn down Aoi again?
My brother asked as soon as I get home.
Eh, how did you know?
It’s obvious. Aoi’s totally smitten with you.
Thinking about how the phrase totally smitten is so old-fashioned, I opened the fridge . . .
. . . Revealing the severed head inside.
Ahhh!
But upon closer inspection, it was just a mannequin head. It's the infamous Serial Killer Uniko, Slayer of One Hundred Men, which my brother picked up from some unknown dumpster when we were in elementary school. A card stuck between its lips read . . .
Congratulations, Medaka!
I hear the pop of party crackers, and feel ribbons fall onto my head.
My father, mother, and brother exclaim in unison. My brother grins, his usual reaction to a successful prank, as he pulled the mannequin out of the fridge. Concealed behind it is a box with a round cake inside.
Let’s eat, let’s eat! GAHAHAHAHA!
My mother laughed loudly as she removed the wig from Uniko and plopped it onto her own balding head. She lost her hair due to chemotherapy. Most people in her situation would be depressed, but not Mom.
Cancer won't beat me.
Is what she always says when asked, with the air of an indomitable warrior. She takes it all in stride, even using her wig for comedic effect, like she did that time. This is her second bout with cancer. The first time was when I was in third grade, and she had beaten it with ease.
We sit down at the table and my mother starts slicing the cake.
Congratulations on your graduation, Medaka. Your dad has something to say, from all of us.
My father clears his throat solemnly, and then . . .
Lets out a fart.
Ugh, Dad!
My mother wafts the toxic gas away with her wig, using it like a fan.
Geez, the Isohara family always has way too much energy . . .
5
As a high school student, I became excessively sleepy. For some unknown reason, I felt unwell unless I slept at least twelve hours a day, a trend that started around my second year of middle school. I saw a doctor about it, but he just chalked it up to my natural constitution. Apparently, a small percent of the population are long sleepers, just like me.
The demands of high school are tough for a long sleeper. Due to the bus schedule, I had to leave home by 7:15 AM to avoid being late. School typically ended around 4 PM, and even if I headed straight home, I couldn't arrive until after 5 PM. Dinner is at 7 PM, so even if I do everything with perfect efficiency, I can't make it to bed until about 8 PM. If I sleep for twelve hours, I wake up at 8 AM—late again. Inevitably, I was reduced to sneaking in naps on the bus or during breaks to cope.
You sleep like a koala.
My friends teased me about it.
Koalas sleep for around twenty hours, actually.
Why so much?
Koalas? Or me?
Koalas.
Because their diet of eucalyptus leaves lacks nutrients, and takes a long time to digest.
Huh, interesting.
High school girls are not typically interested in the biology of koalas.
I felt like something between a koala and a human, with how I narrowly managed the bare minimum of high school life. While my classmates engage in clubs, go to tutoring, pursue hobbies, and even date, I was asleep. That's how it always goes.
Previously mundane things begin to take on a strange sort of poignancy. The nostalgia of the end of summer, the clarity of winter mornings, the long shadow of a shoe left in a sandbox at dusk . . . I stop to stare, and find myself unable to move. As I stand still, everyone else seems to pass me by, all on their way to greatness.
Gradually, I began to feel suffocated. Unable to breathe properly, I collapse several times during class, ending up in the nurse’s office.
What's wrong? Is anything bothering you?
What is happening to me? What am I so worried about?
I remained silent in the end, unable to express my feelings. A bitter taste lingered in my mouth like I'd been chewing on eucalyptus.
My circadian rhythm was completely ruined, and I found myself becoming nocturnal. It felt like I could only breathe properly when everyone else was asleep. Yet, I was not doing anything significant—or rather, I couldn't even tell what significant meant anymore. Every living thing has its priorities, and for humans, breathing takes precedence. I often jolt awake in the middle of the night, gasping for breath. Naturally, my high school life took a backseat. That only made things more painful, and I ended up crawling into my mother's futon for relief night after night.
It's okay, you're okay . . .
My mother stroked my back. Clinging onto her barrel-like belly and listening to the thudding of her heartbeat was strangely calming, and I could finally fall asleep.
As I somehow manage to survive each passing day, graduation is suddenly just around the corner.
Career Preference Survey
I stare at the blank lines on the paper.
The lead of my mechanical pencil snaps, the sound of it unnaturally loud to my ears. Nothing has changed since sixth grade. I still don't want to become anyone, or want anything. All I need is to breathe slowly and sleep deeply for twelve hours a day.
Aw, come on, that kind of life is no fun. I want to be someone.
Sanae, who had gone to a different high school in the end, said so. I found myself at a loss for words again. She was healthy. Too healthy, in a way that feels almost like an insult to us non-healthy people. It's not that Sanae was doing anything wrong; she's just a big fish, and the waves of her swimming sweep little fish like me away.
In my heart, I whispered back to her.
Sanae, life has never been fun, and I don't want to become anyone.
6
Eventually, I enrolled in a university I could commute to from home.
University life is more relaxed, and I feel slightly more at ease. My peers are all busy reveling in their youth, and I do not feel as suffocated. I even try working part-time at a convenience store. It is surprisingly manageable, despite my lack of physical stamina. During the longer school breaks, my brother, Miyo, Aoi, and Sanae— who had all gone to schools out of the prefecture— return, and we all have fun hanging out together.
Medaka!
Aoi's voice would waft in through the open screen door.
Here we go again, I think as I step out onto the balcony.
It’s a nice day today. Let's go on a date!
A date . . . ? But I'm not your girlfriend.
You're not my girlfriend?!
Aoi was becoming desperate after being turned down one too many times.
I already turned you down at our high school graduation, remember? Give it up already . . .
Aoi had attended another school, but he and his entire family showed up at my graduation to congratulate me. There was another license renewal incident. After a lot of grumbling, he finally looks down, dejected.
. . . Okay . . . I’ll give up on you, Medaka . . .
That's better. You'll only be young once, you know.
Aoi turned back to his room, but his eyes harbored a quiet hope as they flickered my way.
No, you won't get any mercy from me.
Argh!
He let out a frustrated yell and ran off, on the brink of tears. How pitiful . . .
Since the Isohara and Hasegawa families have always been close, perhaps he can never bring himself to fully give up. I did end up going with him to the Uneme Festival that summer, with my brother and Miyo along too, of course.
I really do not understand what he sees in me.
And just like that, time flies by, and it's suddenly March of my senior year at university. I force myself to start job hunting.
I write 21 in the age section of my resume, feeling complicated about it. I had always thought I would die at twenty. I wanted to die at twenty. But now here I am, past that age and still living.
Feeling like I would lose against any and all competition, I apply to companies with few applicants, the ones that seemed manageable for someone like me. That leaves me with few options, but that's a good thing from my perspective.
Just then, the COVID-19 pandemic begins, throwing the world into chaos. Job interviews are postponed or go remote. Both companies and job seekers are groping blindly in the dark. No one can escape the negative side effects.
Though I know nothing about it, I apply to a company in Tokyo. I spend a stressful day navigating the unfamiliar city, before attending an interview that inspires nothing but dread. By the time I return home on the night bus, I am completely drained. I am desperately lacking in strengths, both physical and practical, so selling myself to the interviewer was exhausting. I did not want to lie. I knew I would not be an asset to the company.
I was rejected by that company in the end, and I applied for a second, thinking to myself, I don't want to do this anymore. I am rejected there too, and at a third company as well. The fourth company interview was beyond stressful, and afterward, I curled up in the corner of a net café's private room and cried my eyes out. I just don't have what it takes to carve out a place for myself in society. I'm not smart or athletic. No one had ever said as much, but I still know.
Through my tears, I wish I had been born like my mother.
When we read The Life of the Seain sixth-grade language class, I thought of my mother. A broad woman who grew up in a coastal town and caught her fish from the curve. Surely, there must have been occasions where she battled with the massive ocean fish, like fighting against the spirit of the sea itself. She survived, raised two children, and defeated cancer twice. She's just too incredible. I long to be like that.
Despite my despair, I get an unexpected job offer from the fifth company I applied to. It's a company that managed multiple restaurants in Sendai. I had been blessed by a miracle, just as I run out of energy to continue the job hunt.
7
After I graduated from university, my family held a farewell party. My brother had already secured a job locally and was on the sending-off side. The Hasegawa siblings also got jobs locally. I make a comment as Mom places candles on the cake.
It's not a birthday, you know?
Oh my, you're right.
Both my parents looked dispirited, their eyes mixed with worry and pity. They looked at me like I was Laika, the dog sent into space aboard Sputnik 2. She never came back to Earth. To the Isohara family, Sendai may as well be another planet.
That night, I heard Aoi calling for me, and I stepped onto the balcony.
Medaka, you're leaving tomorrow, aren't you . . . ?
His voice conjured images of a puppy abandoned in the pouring rain. We reminisced about sentimental memories for a while.
Medaka, if you like we could—
Achoo!
I accidentally cut him off with a sneeze.
Ah, sorry, it’s my hay fever . . . Wow, there’s pollen all over the railing.
. . .
So, what were you saying?
. . . Nothing, just, good luck in Sendai . . .
Yeah, thanks a lot. Achoo!
It wasn't until I returned inside and blow my nose that I finally realized Aoi was trying to confess his feelings again.
He really was so oblivious.
I moved out the next day. It is an hour and a half from Kooriyama to Sendai via the Tohoku Expressway. I rented a 35,000 yen, one-bedroom apartment in the Aoba Ward of Sendai. We had movers transport my belongings, and the whole family came to help me unpack. We finish most of it by the afternoon and talk of going site seeing. My father was beginning to get restless, incessantly stroking his catfish-like whiskers and grumbling to himself about going fishing.
Why on earth did you bring a fishing rod?! After I told you not to . . . really, you're so selfish!
My brother patted our father on the shoulder as he sulked under the scolding of our mother.
Dad, times have changed. Now one can fish with a smartphone.
And so, as we made the journey to the tourist spot, my father sit beside me playing a fishing game on a borrowed phone.
Ha, this is why I don't work with amateurs . . .
He initially scoffs at it, but eventually began muttering in approval.
Ho, this is really something . . .
Ho, ho, ho!
A little quieter, please!
My mother, sitting in the passenger seat, rebuked him wearily.
Aaaagh!
A sudden jumpscare out of a horror movie flashes across the LED screen and Dad screams. My brother grins mischievously from his place in the driver's seat.
You really got me! But the even the devil's timing is no match for the might of the earth. Behold, the earth's power!
Father declares, and then, pfft, he farts.
The car transforms into one of the more sulfuric circles of hell.
Thus, we arrive at the Sendai Castle ruins, take photos in front of the statue of Date Masamune, and leisurely stroll around. Time flies by, and we have beef tongue for dinner before saying our goodbyes. It felt more like a family vacation than a farewell.
Take care, okay? And look after your health.
My mother gave a final, sad wave from the passenger seat as they begin the return journey to Kooriyama.
I climbed up to my apartment and turned on the lights. The bulbs had a slight whitish tint. Breathing in deeply, I could smell cardboard and packing tape. The air was slightly too cold in my lungs like I had mint gum stuck in my throat.
8
That night, I had a strange dream.
Fish were jumping on asphalt.
They would not die, no matter how long I watched. Scales shimmering dully, they continue to flop energetically against the ground.
The faint scent of peaches drifts from the fish.
Looking up, a vast gray curtain seems to cover the world. It is the sky and the sea, so close in tone as to be indistinct. The distant roar of the sea sends fear running down my spine.
I am in my pajamas, standing at a road's curve.
I wander, barefoot and aimless through a port town devoid of any human figures.
This place is at the same time terrifying and nostalgic.
I know this land . . .
There is a dark tunnel ahead on the road. The sickly-sweet smell of rotting peaches wafts from within. I get the sense that the way back home is through there, but I am too scared to go inside.
Instead, I aimlessly wandered the deserted port town, heading towards the harbor.
I walk with the sea immediately to my right, the rich scent of the tide filling my nostrils. Eventually, I come across a row of pine trees, with a figure in golden clothing standing nearby, facing the sea.
Excuse me . . .
I stop and called out to them, but there is no response. I circled around to their front, and see the strange set of objects surrounding them. There is a bronze statue standing on a stone pedestal facing the sea. To its left, there is a stone monument engraved with Port Reconstruction Commemoration. The pine trees are further along, to the left.
As the figure comes fully into view, a wave of horror washes over me.
It is Okina.
An Okina Noh mask covers the face, a thin white beard hanging from the chin. The figure is adorned in a flamboyant Noh costume, reminiscent of nobles from the Heian period. The get-up consists of an ornate kariginu robe with golden shiyokō brocade, a matching old-timey hakama called a sashinuki, and a tall, cylindrical black hat called an eboshi.
Suddenly, from nowhere, comes the thunder of a drum.
My heart begins thumping intensely.
I am reminded of a Noh play I saw once as a child. Though I did not understand the story, the eerily beautiful masks, the elegance of the dance, and the powerful accompanying music left a deep mark on me.
I cried a lot during the play, though I can't remember why. All that remains is a vague sense of terror, and the memory of the nightmares about the Noh masks I suffered for a while afterwards.
The Okina in front of me seemed like it had emerged from those dreams, transcending time.
The pine trees remind me of the mirror board backdrop used on Noh stages.
You have taken the wrong path.
Okina suddenly speaks, sending a shiver down my spine.
What do you mean by that?
He did not answer immediately. After a pause, he began to calmly speak once more.
The straightest path forward is not always the correct one. Life is, after all, but a vain dream of wealth and splendor. Yet you must not look down upon this dream. In doing so, you risk losing what is most precious.
Then, he swiftly spread open a golden fan. Painted on it was Mount Penglai, paired with a turbulent sky and sea, and images of cranes and turtles. A pine tree is growing on the turtle’s back.
In an instant, I am sucked into that scene.
Okina stands beneath the pine tree. In his hand is the fan, and within that fan is another Okina beneath another pine tree, holding another fan . . . on and on, endlessly repeating like two mirrors in parallel. My vision blurs and sways psychedelically as I fall infinitely through fan after fan . . .
Suddenly, I woke up.
I was drenched in sweat and my heart pounded fiercely.
